


Second Firsts

by melliejellie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blind Date, M/M, Reunions, Second Chances, past breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melliejellie/pseuds/melliejellie
Summary: Tsukishima's been through four and a half breakups (that thing with Kuroo years ago was only kind of one - after all, they weren't evertechnicallydating).Now, his coworker's set him up on a blind date and, because the universe hates him, Kuroo Tetsurou walks in through the restaurant doors and back into his life.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 36
Kudos: 286





	Second Firsts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phixuscarus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phixuscarus/gifts).



> A gift for my favorite wink wonk, Phixy!

“Four,” Tsukishima slurs, holding up four fingers on his surprisingly wobbly hand, “three serious breakups. One I didn’t care about all that much. And well, actually,” he pinches at the bridge of his nose, trying hard to make his thoughts come out of his mouth. “Four and a half.”

He tries, and fails, to hold up half a finger but still paints a very smug grin on his face.

Across from his Kahlua and milk on the other side of the booth is his new co-worker, the only one he likes so far at his new museum job. She raises an eyebrow as she brings her glass to her lips.

“How can someone have half a breakup?”

Tsukishima likes her because she gets straight to the point and also doesn’t smile much. She saves her grins, much like himself. Saves them for Friday nights where they complain about the other staff and the volunteers and throw back entirely too many sweet drinks.

It’s not that Tsukishima doesn’t like smiley people. His best friend is a smiley person. He hums happily, thinking of Yamaguchi before his brain remembers to answer.

“Because,” Tsukishima says with unearned authority, “if you’re never actually dating, but you’re kind of dating, then it’s half a breakup.”

“Sounds like you’ve only had four, then.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue. “The half counts.” In his mind’s eye there’s a flash of messy black hair, that same, stupid red track jacket, and the ghost of loud laughter, close and hot against his ear.

“It sucked, so it counts.”

She groans, “breakups do suck.”

She raises her glass and points it at him, the whiskey sloshing around. “But I got an idea. A good idea. And I’m smarter than you, so you have to agree.”

“Debatable.”

“No,” she replies shortly. “I have this friend. Well, friend of a friend. He’s athletic like you, looks good in a suit, nice guy. And you have no reason to say no.”

“I have a hundred reasons.”

“Too bad. I’m texting him already. Looks like you’re going on a date, Tsukishima.”

***

_ Because if you’re never actually dating, but you’re kind of dating, then it’s half a breakup. _

While they never sat down and had The Talk or confessed every layer of their feelings, in Tsukishima’s mind there was a time when he and Kuroo dated.

It checked all the right boxes: a clearly mutual attraction, incessant flirting in the form of smirk-riddled banter, outings together that were never labeled as a  _ date _ but very much felt like one, and definitely more than a few instances of a make out session that progressed decisively further than that.

But they never said the words.

And maybe that’s where it all fell apart.

Tsukishima has thought back over the last few weeks of their friendship too many times to count when he’s awake at night, failing to find sleep, while his brain runs through a neat, tidy list of everything he’s ever felt guilty or embarrassed about in his life.

They were both busy, busier than they had been in years. Tsukishima was in his last year of college. He was balancing his studies, playing with the Frogs, and doing a part-time internship at the Sendai Museum. Looking back, he now has the wisdom to know he was absolutely not balancing it well. In the moment he felt unstoppable. Everything he’d worked so hard for was panning out at the same time.

Kuroo’s career was taking off, too. After working at a company he really disliked for a year, he got an opportunity to work for the Volleyball Association and had really been putting in the time and effort to advance his position there from the start.

And, of course, that’s what had always attracted them to one another, wasn’t it? That hunger to reach for more, to be better than themselves, than the other. Even when Tsukishima was young and still pretending he was fine with mediocrity, there was a drive in him that had wilted into insecurity-- until Kuroo and a few other loudmouths set it free.

Kuroo helped him unlock something in himself, stoked the fire in his heart, and Tsukishima took off running.

Tonight as he lies awake staring at the minutes ticking by on his phone, the shame simmers in his stomach because Kuroo probably understood what Tsukishima was trying to do. Maybe Kuroo was trying to help. He just went about it in the worst way possible. 

Tsukishima flips over onto his back and lets out a loud sigh.

Because Kuroo was fun and kind, but he was also stubborn and so sure he was right in most moments that he refused to listen to anyone else.

He blinks and he’s back outside the gymnasium where the Sendai Frogs had just suffered their first loss of the season. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins even after he’d showered, said goodbye to his teammates, and walked out to the parking lot to properly greet the mess of bedhead standing beside his car, that gaudy homemade Frogs banner he’d made tucked under his arm.

Kuroo’s specific brand of enthusiasm got under his skin during a game, like it always had, but usually they’d throw a couple snarky comments back and forth, Tsukishima would roll his eyes, and then they’d decide where to eat together.

That night it had bothered him more and an irritation crept into his heart and wouldn’t let him go. While he showered, while he changed, that feeling stewed until it shifted into something uglier.

_ Is he your boyfriend or something? Why are you listening to what he has to say about your own life choices? _

And of course that was the root of it all, he knows now. A teammate had seen Kuroo and him together several times and one afternoon when Tsukishima was complaining about “his friend” questioning how healthy it was to be as busy as he was, his teammate had dropped those two questions that changed everything.

Because Kuroo  _ wasn’t _ his boyfriend.

Kuroo  _ didn’t _ have the right to barge into his life.

It was Tsukishima’s life and a real friend, a  _ boyfriend _ wouldn’t spend so much time discouraging him, right?

But then there he was, holding up that banner and cheering his name.

The situation didn’t make sense. Kuroo didn’t make sense. Tsukishima needed clarity.

In that streetlamp lit parking lot, everything fell apart. Immediately after pleasantries, it was one wrong turn after another from both their lips.

Kuroo spoke with his hands, punctuating each point. “But you know I’m right. You wouldn’t be fighting it so hard otherwise. Look, I went through the same thing a few years ago and--”

“I’m not you! Our lives, if you haven’t realized yet, are not the same.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Are you?” Tsukishima shouted. “Because these past few months all I’ve been hearing from you is advice based on  _ your _ choices,  _ your  _ path,  _ your  _ decisions. And I just don’t care anymore, Kuroo!”

“So you expect me to sit back and watch you--”

“Yes, I do. You have no right to barge in and tell me how to live my life.”

“That’s not how I show I care. When I see someone, when I see you, barrelling through life in a way that’s going to make you burn out, I can’t just sit back.”

“It’s so good of you to share  _ my _ future with me. Just because you couldn’t--” Tsukishima pointed at him with all the bitterness that had welled up inside.

“Stop. Don’t say something you’ll regret,” Kuroo warned.

“Honestly, I’m regretting not saying it sooner. Just because you couldn’t keep it together, doesn’t mean I’m going to burn out. We’re not the same person. Your failures aren’t mine.”

“But you sure have plenty of your own.”

“Meaning?”

Kuroo jutted out his fingers to count. “You’re so bull-headed it’s borderline insane. You look for weaknesses in others to try to ignore your own. You’re so emotionally closed off that it’s a wonder we ever became close in the first place. You push people away when they reach out to you.”

“Enough. Like you’re so perfect?”

“I know I have faults. I own up to them.”

That was the last straw, the last hit of Kuroo acting like he always knew better. Tsukishima snapped.

“Oh sure. Like how you constantly think you know better than everyone? Or maybe it’s how you cover up your aggressive need to control a situation by acting like it’s in the other person’s, in  _ my _ , best interest? Or maybe it’s all your barely disguised jealousy? Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Maybe all that forceful advice, all that needlessly judgemental crap I’ve had to take from you doesn’t come from a place of wishing me well, but wishing you had done better.”

Tsukishima smirked at the hurt expression on Kuroo’s face. “Hit a sore spot, then, didn’t I?”

Kuroo threw up his arms. “You’re so good at knowing just where to dig, aren’t you? Proud of yourself?”

And in the immediate moment after, no. Tsukishima wasn’t proud of himself at all.

“I hope you are. I hope you continue being just as miserable as you are right now, Tsukishima. It’s what you deserve.”

That night Tsukishima went home and rage cried in his bed, the tears flowing as he growled deep in his chest. Kuroo had no right to judge his choices, to try and change his life.

He always meant to text when he cooled down.

He never did.

And that teammate who pushed him into that train of thought ended up doing it out of his own jealousy. He saw how Kuroo acted around him after the games and he sought to sow seeds of discontent between them.

It worked.

***

Tsukishima’s wearing his date outfit. He has exactly one. He hasn’t needed more than one in some time. It’s not fashion-forward, but it’s classic and he looks nice in this sweater. Yachi told him so because “the burgundy makes your blond hair stand out.”

He has his hands neatly folded on the table, eyes on the door as he waits. All his co-worker told him was that the guy had an athletic build and stylish black hair-- “the kind that looks like it’s bedhead but you know it took so long to get it just right.”

Tsukishima is a rational person, but the moment she told him that, his brain drifted to exactly one man with bedhead that he knew, for a fact, took way too long to get just right.

The odds are impossible.

Stylish black hair and an athletic build could describe half of the city.

And then in walks Kuroo Tetsurou.

He’s unmistakable. Same face, same smirk, same hair even as he runs his fingers over it to slough off a few raindrops. Tsukishima watches in horror as he brushes his hand over his blazer, knocking off droplets of water before he looks up.

Tsukishima stares at his hands, wishing he had a big menu to hide behind but this place is suddenly annoyingly French and only has those tiny, daily-printed ones. His skin is hot and he curses his blond hair, hopes it’s gotten long enough to the point that Kuroo won’t recognize him.

He’s still holding out hope that the universe hasn’t toyed with him and set him up on a blind date with his ex-not-really-ex until he hears--

“Tsukishima?”

His heart sinks all the way to his feet. Tsukishima squeezes his eyes shut and presses his hands together on the table as he wills himself to look at Kuroo, up close, for the first time in years.

“Hey,” Kuroo says, but there’s no delight in his tone, “long time no see.”

“Yeah.”

With their eyes locked, neither of them say a word. Tsukishima watches as Kuroo’s mouth open and closes several times, but neither of them moves until a waiter politely asks to scoot past Kuroo.

He dips his head in apology and takes a step closer to the open chair across from Tsukishima. “Are you-- you here for a blind date?”

Tsukishima sighs heavily and lets his arms drop by his sides, already starting to slide out his chair to leave. “It’s fine. I can go.”

“No. Stay,” Kuroo says quickly, his eyes widening. He stammers before finding the words, “We can catch up, right?”

Tsukishima’s eyes glance at the door. He clicks his tongue, mustering whatever bite he can to cover for the way his heart is pounding, desperate to leave this situation. “Is that even possible?”

Kuroo makes a strangled groan sound in his throat, then he sits down heavily in the opposite chair, a sharp smirk on his lips. “Of course it is.”

Tsukishima doesn’t look at him. A charged silence sits between them.

“You don’t have to pretend. You’re clearly just as tense, so we don’t have to sit here and pretend to still be friends.” He makes eye contact to make his point clear. He would like to leave and he knows Kuroo would like to as well. It’s just so  _ like him _ to put on that stupid smirk and ask to sit here with all of their history behind them.

“Well, glad to know you haven’t changed at all,” Kuroo laughs, but there’s no joy to the sound.

As neither of them dare be the first to look away, exasperation grows in Tsukishima’s chest.

“Exactly. Nothing new here, so I’ll just leave.” Tsukishima stands abruptly. “You can do whatever you want, but I don’t have stay.”

He takes a step, but that voice makes him freeze.

“Still running away, then. Typical Tsukishima.”

He spins, anger threatening to spill from his throat, but he holds it back because the last thing Tsukishima wants to do is cause a scene.

He grits his teeth and fakes a smile, “excuse me?”

“That’s your whole bit, isn’t it? Ghosting when things are uncomfortable.”

“It was more than uncomfortable,” Tsukishima harshly whispers through his still grit teeth. He takes his seat again so he can lean forward into Kuroo’s space and be heard, have his meaning made clear without anyone else noticing. “You were barging in on my life and my choices in a way you didn’t have any right to.”

Trapped together at a small table in a classy restaurant, they rehash the past. Through fake smiles for appearances and whispered blame, they manage to order food and look almost,  _ almost _ like two people who don’t hate each other.

But Tsukishima  _ does _ hate him, right?

Except--

All those nights thinking about it over and over have made him see it from every point of view until he wasn’t sure what was objectively true back then. As he’s grown, he’s learned that someone can mean well but do everything wrong. He’s certainly screwed up doing his best before.

And the fact is, they’re both still sitting here. Either one of them could have left. Tsukishima wanted to leave. But Kuroo hooked him again, like he always had.

Kuroo knows exactly which of his buttons to push, just like Tsukishima knows his.

Back and forth they pick one another apart until Kuroo settles back into his chair, gaze on the table, and admits, “I  _ was  _ jealous of you.”

The honesty makes the words Tsukishima was getting ready to throw at him melt on his tongue. He looks down at his plate of mostly untouched food and asks, “Why?”

“You literally couldn’t fail. You wanted to join a pro team. You did. You wanted a position at the museum. You got it. I tried to be just as driven and I burned out and had to piece myself back together. That night,” Kuroo’s voice grows softer, “I spoke from a place of insecurity, I know that, still wondering how the hell you managed to be, well,  _ you _ and I couldn’t do half of what you could. But I couldn’t shake this growing worry that you were headed towards some sort of breaking point.”

Tsukishima laughs, the sound dark and heavy in his throat. “I did.”

“What?”

The worry is so clear, so open in Kuroo’s voice that Tsukishima glances up from the table.

The sight of Kuroo, a man Tsukishima knows he felt something close to love for years ago, looking so instantly concerned, eyes soft and earnest, makes something crumble inside Tsukishima’s heart.

He has to swallow before he can find his voice again.

“I did reach a breaking point. Towards the end of my second to last season with the Frogs I could barely keep it together. I was doing a poor job at the museum. My grades suffered. I graduated but I scraped by that last year.” 

He slumps against his seat, eyes finding his hands again as they pick at the edges of the cloth napkin. “I was stubborn and played with them another year, but I couldn’t give them my best. I ended,” a surge of emotion wells up in his chest and he has to fight to it back, “I wish my last season hadn’t gone that way.”

Tsukishima sits for a beat, waiting for the inevitable follow-up questions that usually accompany him discussing his departure from sports well before he aged out.

When it doesn’t come, he asks, “What? You don’t want to know?”

“I don’t want to pry,” Kuroo corrects.

Tsukishima narrows his eyes. “You already know, right? With your job?”

Kuroo sighs. He opens his palm and lets his head fall into it as he slumps down onto the table. “I know you got injured. A season-ending injury, but not a career-ending one. That’s all I know.” He waits a beat, then adds, “I wanted to call you. See if you were alright.”

“I wouldn’t have answered.”

“I know.”

Both of their gazes drop back to the table as the rest of the world continues on around them. Suddenly there’s so much noise in Tsukishima’s ears and he realizes he hasn’t heard any of it in so long. His focus has been wholly on Kuroo, on this fierce beating of his heart, on old anger stewing in his stomach. And now he’s overwhelmed-- people talking, plates rattling, kitchen sounds filling the room every time the door swings open.

“--again?”

His eyes snap up. Kuroo is talking. He’s smiling. Weakly, but it’s there.

“What?” Tsukishima asks.

“Can we start over?”

Tsukishima narrows his eyes at him.

“Let’s pretend this is a real blind date and just see what happens, yeah? Start over fresh?”

Tsukishima watches as Kuroo straightens his shirt, sits up straight, and paints on a winning smile.

“Hey, I’m Kuroo Tetsurou, really nice to meet you.”

Despite himself, Tsukishima feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sighs, then gives in. “Tsukishima Kei. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Kuroo then proceeds to act exactly as though this was a blind date. Over food that’s grown cold and dessert that’s served fresh, Kuroo asks Tsukishima about his work, his hobbies, about where he’s from. When Tsukishima mentions he used to play volleyball, Kuroo acts genuinely surprised. They avoid anything and everything that is too close to their truth.

Once he’s finished with his last bite of tiramisu, he realizes that he’s actually enjoying himself. A little.

They part ways at the restaurant with Kuroo asking for his number. “I’m gonna pretend like I don’t still have it.”

Shock passes over Tsukishima’s expression. “You kept it?”

Kuroo’s hurt is clear on his face. “You didn’t?”

“I thought we were on a  _ proper _ first date,” Tsukishima reminds him, trying to keep his guilty heart from rattling around in his chest.

“You’re right, you’re right. Staring over, yeah? Well, I’ll call you, okay?” Kuroo smiles in the streetlamp and it’s the first genuine-looking one he’s seen all night.

There’s a pinch in his chest, but a warmth there, too.

“Okay,” Tsukishima says, letting go of a tiny, hopeful smile of his own.

***

One phone call on a Saturday afternoon turns into two, three, then another meal together. Not a date. Lunch because Tsukishima refuses to go to dinner at this point in their-- whatever this is right now. There’s texts thrown in there, too.

A shocking amount of texts, actually, because Kuroo is the kind of person who hits  _ send _ in the middle of his thoughts and just keeps talking and talking.

Tsukishima remembers that he used to do that years ago, too. The memory fills him with fondness and then his stomach swoops as everything else between them rushes in to smother the good feelings they’re trying to foster with this new sort of friendship.

It’s the same when they’re texting or talking over bowls of ramen at some hole in the wall restaurant near Kuroo’s house.

If they avoid any talk of the past, then they’re good. Great, even. Kuroo cackles too loudly. Tsukishima clicks his tongue, but secretly enjoys the sound.

But the moment either of them accidentally mention anything from the past, the bad memories silence the conversation, the air between them grows charged and bitter, until one of them manages to change the subject. Usually Kuroo. He’s better at things like that.

It doesn’t even have to be about  _ their _ past. A simple mention of Bokuto brings back memories of the third gym. Talking about Kuroo’s job brings up volleyball. Everything is a minefield.

Awake at night, again, staring at his ceiling in the dark, Tsukishima knows that this is no way forward. He has to tap on the cracked glass barely separating them from their past.

If it shatters and they fall apart, then so be it. But as he tosses from side to side, unable to find sleep, he anxiously hopes that breaking that fragile wall for good might open them up to something else entirely.

***

Over coffee and croissants, the glass breaks.

“Oh! If you’re looking for an editor, he’s busy but Akaashi--”

Tsukishima can feel the skin of his face grow tight with a grimace.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to--” Kuroo quickly backtracks, looking sheepish as his eyes fall to his mug.

“No!” Tsukishima says with a sharpness he didn’t intend. He softens his tone and tries again. “It’s fine. You’re allowed to have friends.” He knows his voice is stronger than he wants, but it’s so frustrating to know what he wants to say and not know how to say it.

He doesn’t want a repeat of the parking lot. Instead of immediately steamrolling through what he’s trying to say, Tsukishima takes a breath, takes a sip of coffee, then lets his gaze meet Kuroo’s. He hopes his expression isn’t wrong. He hopes his words won’t be wrong.

Tsukishima takes another breath, their eyes locked, and he tries. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re allowed to have friends that I know. You can talk about Bokuto and Akaashi. I-- I want you to. And,” he starts speaking faster, “I want you to talk about work like I talk about the museum. Just because it’s about volleyball doesn’t mean we can’t ever-- can’t ever share about it.”

He pauses, his heart racing as he anxiously worries if he’s doing it all wrong. Kuroo’s expression tells him nothing. The other man says nothing.

More words tumble out. “I don’t like what happened between us. I don’t  _ want _ to talk about it, but if the past is some-- is some big Thing we can’t ever bring up then I don’t think we have a chance to--” and he cuts himself off because he has no idea how he wants to finish that sentence.

In a lot of ways, the past few weeks have felt like before.

They talk a lot.

They play at the edges of flirty banter.

It never tips over, but Tsukishima can feel that it’s close.

Or maybe he just wants it to be close.

Kuroo still hasn’t said anything and Tsukishima can’t look at him in the eyes anymore. He stares at his mug, at the last sip of coffee still sitting in the bottom. He wraps his hands around it, wills his voice to not shake.

“I know you asked to start over, clean slate, but that’s not what I want. I want us to have a chance to start again.” The moment sits before he panics and tries to reel it back in. “With the past. As friends. Or whatever. I don’t like what happened, but I don’t hate  _ all _ of it.”

And he’s well and truly done with those last words. It was only a minute or two at most, but Tsukishima feels emotionally spent.

He swallows hard and waits.

Kuroo’s boot accidentally kicks against his under the table as the other man shifts in his chair.

“I don’t hate all of it either.”

Tsukishima’s eyes snap up. Kuroo’s expression is bittersweet. His smile holds hope, but his eyes are sad.

“I just don’t know how to fix it,” Kuroo admits.

“I don’t either,” Tsukishima echos.

But in the discomfort, in the confusion, there’s a shared vulnerability. Tsukishima feels laid open and bare in the middle of that busy cafe.  But Kuroo’s offered the same of himself.

It’s gross. It’s messy.

Tsukishima smiles.

It’s something.

After coffee, they part ways. They’re both adults with things they need to do on a weekend afternoon, but they make plans for later.

***

Dinner turns into takeout back at Tsukishima’s place.

Kuroo agrees with a laugh that maybe a restaurant isn’t the best place to have a talk like this.

Over greasy comfort food, they rehash the past again, only this time there’s no blaming. Together, they peel back layer after layer of old hurts and miscommunication until they can find the good memories they shared, too.

Summer nights at training camp looking up at the night sky with Bokuto and Akaashi.

Day trips to the sea in university when both of them needed to walk away from their responsibilities for a while.

Late night conversations that melted into more and lead to some very happy mornings in Kuroo’s apartment.

They talk until they fall asleep on Tsukishima’s couch, both covered in the blanket he pulls from his bed.

***

In the morning, Tsukishima has a terrible pain in his neck, his head hurts from having so many gross  _ emotions _ in one evening, and there’s an elbow in his back. He’s surprised until he notices set of long legs tangled up in his own.

He shifts and, behind him, Kuroo makes a very ugly snorting sound.

Tsukishima bursts out laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me. I can’t help that I’m all snotty after last night.” Kuroo sleepily throws an arm around him and pulls him closer towards his chest. “Snotty but happy.”

The gesture is small but it makes Tsukishima’s breath catch in his throat.

“Can I take you on a date?” Kuroo mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“And that’s what coffee is for.” The arm around him squeezes tighter.

A smile peeks from Tsukishima’s lips and he’s glad he’s the only one who knows it exists right now.

“C’mon,” Kuroo whines, “I want to take you on a real date, a better date now.”

Tsukishima lets out a quick sigh and, with effort, turns so he’s on his other side, facing Kuroo.

That black hair is a mess. Warmth blooms in Tsukishima’s chest at the sight.

His smile grows. And though he still feels raw and open on the inside, he feels better than he has in years.

“I’d like that.”

Kuroo’s lips part on some unsaid thought as his eyes search Tsukishima’s for  _ something _ . Then he’s closing his eyes and leaning in, sealing their lips together a moment before Tsukishima’s eyes close, too, and he sinks into the moment.

A needed connection.

A necessary release.

The tension left in his body melts as he kisses back, tender but insistent. His free hand moves to grip into Kuroo’s side, a silent plea to finally forgive, to finally heal, to grow something better this time.

***

“You’ve gotten rusty, old man!” Tsukishima taunts through the net after stopping Kuroo’s, frankly, pitiful attempt at a spike. It’s just the two of them at a twig-filled sand court at the park, but they’ve been here for over an hour, trading provoking remarks and glances.

Kuroo flops down in the sand onto his back and Tsukishima grimaces, thinking of all the nasty nature that’s currently climbing all over his boyfriend.

“You spend too much time in a suit and not enough time practicing,” he smirks, tossing the ball back at him.

Kuroo catches it easily in his outstretched hands. “You like me in a suit, though.”

“Still doesn’t mean your spike game hasn’t gotten weak.” Tsukishima looms over him for a moment before reaching out a hand to help him up.

Kuroo launches himself upright so quickly that he has time to steal a kiss before Tsukishima even has a chance to look around to make sure no one could see them. His traitorous skin begins to flush pink as Kuroo grins at him.

“Just for that misplaced critique of my very still strong spiking skills,” Kuroo starts brushing off the sand from his shorts, “I’m not buying you dessert at dinner tonight.”

“I’ll buy my own dessert, then.”

“No!” Kuroo locks eyes with him. “It’s my turn to take you out. You know how this works.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue. “I can’t believe you want to go to  _ that  _ restaurant.”

“But it’s good!” Kuroo defends.

“ _ And _ it’s where we had a very public argument.” Even if there’s no way the waitstaff will remember them, Tsukishima doesn’t want to risk it. Ever. He never wants to set foot in that restaurant again.

“Yeah! I want to go there.”

Kuroo looks at him so earnestly, the smirk replaced with a sweet smile, and it almost, almost makes him want to give in.

“It wasn’t exactly a happy reunion.”

“Yeah, but without it, I wouldn’t have you again.”

Tsukishima’s last will to fight it leaves him in a rush. He turns his head to look away because he feels the pink on his cheeks spreading. “Fine.”

“We can re-do our first date!”

Tsukishima looks back at him, eyebrow raised. “Was that our first date? I thought that time you took me to the movies in college when--”

“When we made out on your couch until your roommate walked in. Yeah, I remember that. My charms worked fast on you,  _ Tsukki _ ,” he smirks, leaning in to Tsukishima’s space until their noses are nearly touching.

Tsukishima takes a step back. “No. Well yes, that did happen, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Guess that was our first date,” Kuroo says, seemingly lost in a sudden thought as his eyes drift up towards the sky. “So I guess that ‘blind date’ at the restaurant was our second first date.”

“Our second first? Isn’t that contradictory?”

“Nope!” Kuroo’s whole face lights up as their eyes meet again. “So far we’ve collected a second first date, a second first kiss that night on your couch. Your couch has seen a lot of action.” He laughs loudly. “And we’ve had our second first time having s--”

Tsukishima clasps a hand over Kuroo’s mouth, gritting his teeth, both eyes wide. “We are in  _ public _ .”

Kuroo licks his palm and Tsukishima snaps it back, wiping it off on his shorts.

“Second first time I licked your hand on a volleyball court.”

Tsukishima puffs out a laugh. “There was never a first time.”

Kuroo shrugs, still grinning wide. “Guess we get to collect a lot of actual firsts now, too.”

“Guess we do,” Tsukishima smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Phix, for this beautiful idea!
> 
> It checked all my favorite boxes:  
> -reunions  
> -some d r a m a  
> -happy ending
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it, too!
> 
> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks make me smile! (And I always reply to comments!)
> 
> Chat with me on Twitter - [@HeyMellieJellie](https://twitter.com/HeyMellieJellie). I scream about haikyuu and post story threads, too!


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